


The Line between Respectful and Stupid

by Anika_Ann



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 'cause I’m a Big Ball of Fluff and I Care to Share, Another Fluffy Meet-Cute, Attempt at humour, Awesome Natasha Romanov, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Meet-Cute, Reader Needs a Hug, Reader-Insert, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, questionable medical treatment, steve rogers is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-06 00:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anika_Ann/pseuds/Anika_Ann
Summary: You heard a lot about the famous Captain America – he was a living legend after all, stories about him whispered in the halls of SHIELD at every corner.Being one of the newest recruits finally-turned-agents, you didn’t expect to meet the man personally though.And you definitely didn’t expect to find out that there was so much more to the man than his shield and the alleged stick shoved up his ass. Or not.Alternatively: ‘The Ass-et’ or ‘The List’. You’ll see why.





	1. God bless office rats

**Author's Note:**

> OMG, action. Why am I doing this to myself again? (To get to the sweet rewarding fluffy parts, I know.)
> 
> My brain is in no state to write something more consistent. Enjoy this at least? O:-)

Being one of the newest recruits-finally-turned-agents, you didn’t expect to be more than a paper-pusher honestly. You couldn’t say you were exactly content with that, but hey, at least you left the imaginary nest of baby to-be-agents relatively soon, actually feeling a bit proud. A bit.

As it turned out, you _were_ about to be a paper-pusher; for like a day. And then Agent Kirski – big fella, in all senses of the word, one of the big fishes, a legend – casually walked into the office where desks of agents on duty were barely divided into boots to create an illusion of their own private space, stopped right in front of your desk, crossed his arms on his chest and with serious eyes told you: _Agent 19, you’re up._ _Wheels up in thirty._

And your whole mind was a one huge _what the frack_ with three question marks alternating with exclamation marks and you stared ahead of yourself for at least five minutes until Harry, the good friend of everyone in the office space he was, nudged you with a gentle smile, excited and a bit worried.

“Don’t get yourself shot, Little One. You’re too young to retire,” the man with grey hair said to you with a grin, thinking how funny he was since he was the one who actually was supposed to be retiring like two years ago.

You chuckled self-depreciatingly to humour him and let a quiet “Don’t worry.” slip out.

Which was clearly a serious mistake, because ten minutes after your team – under the strict command of Captain Steve Rogers aka Captain America, how the fuck had you got to this mission again? – landed its quinjet, things blew up.

Literally.

Because it was a set-up.

Seemingly an abandoned base was in fact full of members of terrorist organization which was inspired by Nazi’s HYDRA and they apparently developed a new tech to mask themselves from SHIELD’s radars, because suddenly there were tens of people versus your barely coordinated group of seven.

You didn’t even have time to take cover.

“Look out!” a male voice you couldn’t place yelled from your right and you frantically scanned your surroundings, not sure if it was a warning meant for you.

When bullets started raining around you, miraculously avoiding your body, you were suddenly more than confident that the speaker – whoever he was – definitely wanted to address _you_.

You crouched behind the nearest tree, peeking to find a target, the quinjet still open few feet from you. Not that you checked because wanted to run back into it and then fly away, happily returning to paper-pushing. _Not at all._

Maybe a bit.

When the insane fire, making splinters and leaves looking like they had been through a smoothie machine, stopped flashing around you, you got out of your cover just for an inch to return few bullets to the enemy.

 _“Shit!”_ you hissed under your breath when the joke turned out to be on you, a bullet going straight through your arm.

The shocking pain came like a tide-wave only few seconds later when you were secured behind your poor natural shield of a tree. You felt tears in your eyes at the gnawing agony, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from screaming.

_Yeah, sure, alert more people to where you’re hiding. Great plan, Miss Grown-Up Agent._

You huffed and with your right hand unfairly shaky, you tried to reciprocate the fire once more. You barely managed to empty the magazine of your gun by the time you heard the ominous beeping that was haunting you in your nightmares due to the excessive use of that distinctive sound in your training.

The ticking of the bomb was too fast. It was about to explode any second and you had no idea where it was coming from and where you should hide.

The answer offered itself. It came in a form of a huge figure springing your direction. You didn’t even have time to brace yourself and a man slammed his body into yours with a deafening sound of an explosion in the background that felt way too close.

A shockwave smashed into you, sending you sliding through the grass and mud, but not as burning as it should.

It was because your body was basically wrapped in another one, very male, very huge, and very much hidden behind a vibranium shield.

Your brain finally caught up. Captain America just probably saved your life. And fuck, make that _definitely._

You didn’t thank him; before you could open your mouth, he pulled you to your feet by your arm – the injured one – and sent a wave of throbbing agony through your whole body. You gritted your teeth and didn’t let out a sound.

Your feet moved on autopilot.

Your ears were still ringing from the explosion, dirt flying away from under your feet and yet you blindly followed the man you owed your life and soul. You noticed his lips were moving rapidly, but you gave up on trying to understand what he was saying.

Before you knew it, you were basically shoved into an all-road vehicle that appeared out of fucking nowhere and suddenly you were driving away, crouched as you were taught to, hearing the bullets raining against the bullet-proof glass.

“If you hear me, get the hell out. I don’t know where each of you is so I can’t get you – you’re on your own. Retreat and use the distress signal when safe. Repeat, use the distress signal.”

You were still covering your head, trying to ignore the sharp turns he was taking, making your body sway from one direction to another.

“Keep pressure on it!” he barked then and you winced, surprised by the urge in his voice as much as the relative calm.

You blinked your eyes open, not realizing you had had them squeezed shut. He was talking to _you_ , wasn’t he? Your arms eased the cage you held your head in – and fuck, did it hurt to move your right arm, how could have you not noticed it when covering yourself – and you obediently put your palm over the wound.

“Yes, Sir,” you replied automatically, only to shook your head. _Way to go, Miss Agent. “Yes, Captain.”_

You were very hesitant to actually apply any pressure despite knowing it was necessary. The thing was, you also knew that if you did so, the pain would send your head spinning-

A sharp turn right and suddenly you _were_ applying pressure while using your injured hand to prop up your body against the dash so you wouldn’t end up in your commander’s lap. The spray of bullets fell silent, only a stray hitting the cracked glass.

“Sorry,” the captain muttered and you, surprised by the rather sudden freedom of the immediate danger, straightened yourself in the seat, managing to fasten a seatbelt. It meant few more moments without touching your wound, which was perfectly fine with you.

You even had time to check out your driver, whose glorious uniform – and doubtlessly handsome face, mostly hidden by his helmet – was covered in dirt and a bit of blood. His half-gloved hands were both firmly clutching the wheel, his gaze darting towards the rear-view and wing mirrors.

You had no clue what possessed you to answer to his unexpected apology. What was he apologizing for anyway? For saving you from being blown up and getting you to safety? _Yeah, sure, deadly sin._

“That’s quite alright, Sir. You’re driving for our lives.”

He shot you a strange look, effectively stopping your heart, but then he shook his head, unfastening the strap on his helmet. He tossed it on the backseat, right next to his shield. Huh, you hadn’t noticed that baby before. Of course he would take his shield to safety. He was clearly very attached to it.

And you were getting pretty big-mouthed – good thing you didn’t say the last thoughts out loud. He was your freaking _commander_ and you should act like it.

“Sorry, Captain, that sounded less bold in my head,” you murmured, gritting your teeth when trying to follow his instruction – and your training – and finally press against the gunshot wound in your bicep.

Maybe you just imagined it, the adrenalin and blood loss making you see things, but when his eyes glanced your direction again, a hint of a lopsided smile was settled on his face.

“Whatever you say, Agent. Just try not to bleed out even with my terrible driving skills,” he threw back and despite your better judgement, you gave him a tired smile back.

“Where exactly are you taking us? I mean… us, right? You’re not gonna ditch me on a side of the road and drive to the sunset alone?”

_What on Earth am I saying?!_

“I’m not gonna leave you bleed out on the side of the road. Or anywhere else,” he promised, voice serious, but surprisingly kind and patient.

Was it wrong of you to feel quite a relief at that? Should you be ashamed for even asking such a ridiculous question the supposed incarnation of justice, liberty and heroism…? That being him, apart from many things that were being whispered behind his back? You didn’t really care.

You melted into your seat, resting your head against it, slightly turning your face to look at his profile. He seemed focused on the driving, yet lost in thoughts.

“Where are we going then?”

Perhaps you should have been able to figure it out yourself, but your brain was getting a bit tired, most likely because you were still bleeding. You thought you were entitled.

“To a safe house.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain: _Oh, did you think you would just finish Melting Hearts and you’d be Steve ideas free? Actually able to work on the draft you have in your laptop for like forever? Oh, my sweet summer child, you have so much to learn…_
> 
> So yeah, basically. Mostly a sweet fluff from here, scout’s honour.


	2. Safe and sound

SHIELD’s idea of a safe house was very different from yours.

For one, you didn’t expect a safe house to look so homey and romantic. You suspected you’d learn better once you’d be inside, but when Captain Rogers parked in front of a nice wood-faced cabin in the middle of nowhere (seriously, you had almost missed the turn he had oh so confidently took, blame it on the blood loss), you were seventy percent sure he had made a mistake and now wanted to ask for directions.

“Alright, let’s get inside. There should be medical supplies, food, anything we could need,” he announced, getting out of the car, circling the vehicle and opening your door before you could win the war with the door handle. “Told you to _keep_ the pressure.”

“Sorry, Sir,” you shot back automatically, not sure what you were apologizing for. It was just the tone he said it in, like a disappointed parent or something.

You followed him to the door as he knocked four times next to the doorframe; one of the wooden desks moved up, nearly making you jump. It revealed a panel with a keyboard and you quickly looked away as Captain Rogers entered the right combination. Now _this_ felt more like SHIELD and less like a vacation residence.

“Shall we?”

This time you actually did jump, quickly following him inside. You passed the welcoming committee in a form of the hangers, stepping inside what seemed to be a common living room. And _wow_ , SHIELD spared no expense on its safe houses.

The room was spacious, wood-faced as well, fluffy carpet in the middle, creating a pad under a coffee table, bordered by an elegant seaweed sofa and two armchairs in the same colour. The thing was, there was no fabulous view on a TV. There was a _fireplace_ instead.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, not quite realizing you had stopped dead in your tracks so you could blatantly stare.

“Yeah. I know. Tony likes to have his luxury. Sit on the couch?” his voice slowly trailed off as he disappeared god knew where.

You eyed the couch warily, not sure you should be getting near that fancy thing. You were _bleeding_ , for god’s sake and the thing looked like it cost a shit-ton of money.

Also, did he just say ‘Tony’? As in… _that_ Tony?

Captain Rogers reappeared with a frown on his face and an impressive box with medical supplies in his hands.

“Something wrong with the couch?”

“Did you just say ‘Tony’?”

“Yes. Now would you sit down?” he challenged you and really, who were you to oppose Captain America? If he was telling you to sit down and ruin Tony freakin’ Stark’s property, who were you to protest? You shuffled towards the sofa, seating yourself heavily.

You winced when your arm throbbed with the ungraceful landing.

Your commander placed the first aid kit on the table, pulling an armchair to sit opposite and sort of side-by-side with you. You watched his hands open the box as if you were hypnotized, accepting the bottle of painkillers with his firm ‘ _two pills’_ , swallowing the dose and ignoring the bloody taste which they took after your hand.

Now what? Was he going to thread the needle for you as well?

You finally found the courage to speak again, self-conscious at the display of care. This wasn’t right. _You_ were supposed to be doing these things. Sure, you were a bit indisposed, but still. It was not common for a commanding officer to treat baby agents in kinder gloves.

“You don’t… you don’t have to do that. It’s not—it’s not required from a captain to treat ordinary agent’s wounds. I don’t want to bother you,” you whispered as he put on gloves, stopping in mid motion when you reached out for the supplies.

“ _Keep the pressure,”_ was his answer and you obediently retreated your hand from his playground and pressed again, trying your best not the faint at the dulling pain. “You know, I really wish SHIELD would draw the line between respect for superiors and stupidity a bit sharper.”

 _Oh_. You gulped at the harsh words, a lump growing in your throat. _That_ sounded more like superior-inferior relationship.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

He must have picked up on something in your voice, because he looked up at your face with intense brilliant blue eyes that widened a fraction.

“Oh, no! No, I’m not calling you stupid!” he hurried, suddenly sounding guilty. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

Superior or not, you had to admit that his obvious discomfort – embarrassment even – was endearing. It took you by surprise. Your voice softened involuntarily, following his example.

“It’s alright, Sir.”

He sighed, indeed threading a needle as if he was about to patch you up. Which he probably was. You weren’t sure what to think of that.

“See, _this_ I what I’m calling stupid. Hierarchy, system, it’s important, following rules and orders… but the training is focused on it too much. Clearly, you wouldn’t be able to stitch it yourself and if you were, it would take longer, which would equal bigger blood loss. It’s like they are trying to kill people’s common sense.”

You thought about his words, your mind racing as his eyes focused on the growing stain under your palm. You couldn’t believe you just heard Captain Follow-The-Rules say this.

He reached out to your arm with scissors in his hand, hesitating only inches away. His gaze found yours, blue shining with severity.

“May I?”

You didn’t dare to blink under his gaze seeking answers in your eyes, effectively making you lost in his. Jesus, what was he doing to you? How? And was he seriously asking for permission?

“Of course, Sir.”

You eased the pressure, making space for his hands and his surprisingly gentle fingers felt around the fabric before deciding it did need to be removed and he used the scissors, clean cut from the end of your sleeve to the torso of the tactic gear since the injury was very high.

The torn fabric fell apart, revealing a bit more skin than you would think was necessary, but you were not about to complain – especially since it wasn’t anything incriminating.

 _“Should have bought you dinner…”_ he muttered under his breath and you couldn’t help but chuckle. He shot you a horrified glance at the sound.

“Oh. I wasn’t supposed to hear that…. Sorry, Captain.”

“I think we’re past ‘Captain’ and ‘Sir’, _Agent_. It’s Steve,” he offered softly, and again, who were you to deny him? “And my ma’ raised me right, alright? In fact, I should have bought you flowers, too.”

As the moment was getting more surreal each second, his handsome face displaying what could be an attempt of a smile only emphasized by his words, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“They didn’t warn me you’ll be funny, S-- Steve.”

“Oh? What did they warn you about? And this is gonna hurt, sorry.”

He poured a fair share of disinfectant into the wound and you would _swear_ your arm was about to burn down. You flinched back with curses falling off your lips and tears in your eyes.

_“Shit, shit, SHIT-“_

“Sorry. Doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would though. Not exactly a graze, but not straight through the middle either. And I’m waiting.”

You knew what he was trying to do with the question. He wanted to distract you. And to be honest, his unreadable expression, his sharp jaw and heavenly eyes would be working on their own, but you humoured him. After all, he was being so nice to you, so nice, sweet even….

Through your gritted teeth, you strained several words. “Well. That you’re a… a hard-ass and a tight-ass.”

His eyebrow shot up nearly to his hairline and the expressiveness surprised you enough to breathe in and out.

“That so? Gonna start with the stitches now.”

You forced more air to your lungs, bracing for the pain, tears in your eyes. You tried to focus on what else you had heard about him, words spilling from your mouth.

“Yep. _He hates when you don’t follow his orders. Harper here left his position the other day and Rogers looked like he was about to kill him on spot,_ they said.”

“Oh, Harper. I remember him. It _was_ a stupid move to leave his position. He could have died – or get his teammates killed. So… I admit I might have been hard on him. But it was for a good reason.”

“You remember him?” you blurted out, taken aback.

“Yes. Black hair, scar above his left eyebrow, right? Tall, not so graceful all the time.”

“Huh— _Shit-“_ you cursed when he prodded a tender area – well, more tender area than the rest, which meant something, okay.

“Sorry. What else do they say about me?”

“That you’re either a— an asshole full of yourself or really crazy since you supposedly yelled at Fury the other day.”

His lips twitched, the movement fascinating you. “I didn’t— it wasn’t _yelling_. We… had a little disagreement.”

“Uh-huh.” You weren’t convinced, but decided it was best not to probe.

“Anything else?”

You huffed. If it wasn’t for his extremely focused face, you would think you two were just chatting over a coffee. And for the pain. There was a blinding yet dull pain throbbing through your right upper limb – a limb that was shockingly still attached.

“That you’re a badass. Naturally.”

“They really use the A word when talking about me a lot, don’t they? One would think about himself he’s an ass, hearing all that,” he joked lightly, and _wow_ , Captain America was able to do that? It wasn’t for the first time! And he said the A word! Maybe it was Steve Rogers coming out to play? An actual person?

“Nah. I’m sure that the tight-ass thing is just ‘cause it _is_ so tight…”

Steve’s hands froze in the middle of doing a stitch, his whole body tensing. You were mortified when you went over what you had just said.

“Oh god, I did not say that.”

Captain America, or Steve Rogers, whatever, was a good man though. He just cleared his throat and continued his work. Except there was a bit of a smirk on his lips that felt nearly cocky. For some reason, there was a hint of embarrassment too, a touch of crimson in the tips of his ears that definitely hadn’t been there before.

“Oh no, go on. The pain-meds apparently make you very honest. Tell me more.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, that was not-“ you stuttered, letting the wrong – right? – addressing slip in again and he sighed.

“Relax… and I mean it, _relax_. I can’t finish these stitches if you’re tense like this…. Good.”

You watched him for few moments, silent. You hadn’t been lying when saying all of the things that were rumoured in the halls of SHIELD about him. But you couldn’t help but being stunned by the man in front of you, the picture so different from what you had expected it to be. 

“Thank you for doing this,” you whispered sincerely, rewarded by a small smile.

“Well, what kind of a gentleman would I be to let you bleed out? Not to mention blood is hard to get off the expensive cushions and floor, so…”

“Alright, I’m adding ‘smartass’ to the list of your rumoured features,” you decided, grinning right back at him.

How was he putting you at ease? He was… he was… _him_. The legend. And yet… the sound of his laugh echoed in your heart right now and you saw nothing but a simple man, laying down all of his shiny armour. It was refreshing and freeing.

You wondered if it made him breathe easier too.

“I guess you’re not wrong there. Here, all done,” he announced, placing a bandage over the rather neat stitches. Huh, _artistic_. Any other hidden talents?

“Thank you, S- Steve.”

“My pleasure.”

He stood up, stripping his gloves and tossing them in a nearest trash can before walking back to you, locking his once again serious eyes with yours.

“Why don’t you lie down? There’s a bedroom right there. Come on, I’ll help you.”

You let him support you from your healthier side, grateful he was there when your head spun with the movement. 

“I’m bloody and sweaty,” you mumbled absently, leaning onto the wall of muscle. Oh yeah, there was no other way, you could be ashamed later. At least you didn’t explicitly felt around his abs and pecs with your fingers. Or the huge arms – and they _were_ calling out for you to touch them, alright. 

_Just… shut up, thoughts._

“Good thing I won’t be the one doing the laundry then,” he hummed, walking you to another room. Your eyelids felt heavy all of sudden when you saw the king-size bed almost in your reach.

“Thanks— wait, where are you gonna sleep if I take the bed? There’s another one somewhere, right? You won’t have to sleep on the couch? ‘Cause I don’t think that you’ll fit there with the shoulders of yours. They’re like really, really broad – _oh geez_ , I need to stop talking.”

Your words slurred into a mumble, but he seemed to decode your cryptic speech, because he chuckled, helping you to land on the bed – not before pulling the covers away so he could later tuck you in.

“I won’t sleep anywhere. I have to wait for the response to our distress signal… and watch over you, because I think I might have overdosed you with painkillers and I don’t want you to stop breathing while I’m having a nap.”

You thought you frowned; you weren’t sure though, losing the control over your muscles gradually. “Shit, I‘m sorry to keep you up. You’d deserve a nap.”

“I’m good. _You_ , on the other hand, were shot. Now get some rest,” he sounded as if he was smiling. You smiled automatically at the idea as his light footsteps faded away.

“…hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for saving my life. And… ya’ know. Taking care of me. I know you don’t have to do that,” you whispered with the last remains of strength you had. But this you needed to say.

The man in question sighed.

“I really do. Goodnight. Feel better.”

You were out before you heard the door click shut.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the fluff is a bit bloody, but… there is fluff, right?
> 
> FYI: This was supposed to be a one shot. Like… maybe a bit longer, but one shot. Well… hell. Five parts it is then.
> 
> P.S. Thank you for the kudos :))


	3. How to make friends with a superhero

You woke up with a startle, a dull throb in your arm following you from your dream – an awful dream full of explosions and bullets. Taking a second, you came to conclusion it was the other was around – that the real deal of getting shot followed you to the dream and back. You ran your hand down your face tiredly, sitting up on the bed.

It was a huge bed. Unfairly comfortable. You were sure that if it weren’t for the pain, you wouldn’t wake up for a very long time, such action actually offending the glorious piece of furniture.

But you did wake up. And you were still on a mission, so you needed to get off your ass. The man who was probably still in the next room motivated you enough to stand up and caused you to paint an unwitting smile on your face despite the shitty situation you were in.

Which was not silly at all.

You tried to fix your hair blindly as you walked to the living room, surprised to find it empty. There was no Steve, but there was Captain America’s shield leant onto a wall next to the fireplace, making you smirk. No matter what side of himself Steve had showed you, the man was sure attached to his toy.

To be fair, that ‘toy’ was a big part of the reason you were still alive, so you were definitely not about to call him out on it, let alone complain.

Making your way further to the cabin, you entered the kitchen connected with a dining room. Your smile widened automatically as you found Steve sitting at the table, laptop in front of himself, a cup of what you guessed was coffee right next to it. He immediately looked up from the screen when he acknowledged your presence and smiled right back at you.

“Morning. Feel better?” he asked, his eyes subtly roaming all over your figure, still dressed in the dirty bloody uniform.

You were a stark contrast to him; he was dressed in a simple light t-shirt (that was not too tight around his muscles _at all)_ and grey sweats and must have taken a shower, because there were no longer streaks of dirt on his face or anywhere, no blood. He looked so disgustingly clean in comparison to you that you felt a pang of shame. Except he didn’t seem to mind, watching you with concern when you didn’t reply at instant.

“Yeah, much. Thank you,” you assured him, stepping into the room, forcing yourself to stop staring at him. It dawned to you had never checked _him_ for injuries. The feeling of shame only throbbed with more intensity. “You?”

The blatant confusion on his face was almost funny. “Huh?”

“How are you? I was a bit tired and not thinking straight. I didn’t even ask if you had any injuries that I couldn’t see.”

_Though you sure look just **fine** in this outfit of yours… or the uniform._

“I’m fine.” _That’s what I thought._ He seemed touched at your worry and slightly taken aback, flustered even. He gestured vaguely towards the kitchen units. “I dug up some canned soup if you’d like. You should probably eat something. And you know, liquids.”

You briefly followed his gaze, noticing a washed bowl and cooking pot on the rack next to the sink. Clearly, he had helped himself, so there was probably nothing wrong with you doing the same, even though your and his ratings were very different. Judging by the uncomfortable clench of your stomach, it didn’t care for such things.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of-… is ‘kind-ass’ a word? I would put it on the list.”

Steve chuckled softly, raising a curious eyebrow as you made your way to the cooker.

“You remember that conversation? You seemed a bit out.”

“It’s fuzzy, but I do remember that… I’m sorry for putting my foot in my mouth,” you apologized, feeling a blush creeping up your neck and cheeks.

Steve had been very kind to you, treating you as if you were a friend and while he seemed to like to be treated the same way, thinking about it, you might have crossed a line. Blame it on the pain-meds. Speaking of pain-meds…

This time, Steve laughed, not bothering to hide his amusement at your practically drunken ass. Once again, you didn’t catch a single malicious note in that sound, because of course he wouldn’t laugh at you in a degrading way.

“Don’t be, it was refreshing. Don’t stop on my account. And I promise to keep that out of the mission report,” he assured you with a playful wink, making your face straightforward crimson. You didn’t hold back either though.

“’Kay. Very kind of you, again. Should I keep _that_ information out of my report? Do you have a reputation you’d like to maintain?”

“I leave that up to you. Now, food and liquids,” he ordered, letting a serious note in his voice for the first time.

“Yes, _Sir_. Can I get you anything?” you asked lamely, but his smile in return seemed genuine as he shook his head, gesturing toward his coffee as if he was saying he had all he needed.

“No, thank you. Actually, I’ve got something for you.” You looked at him curiously. “I left you some clothes in the bathroom, it’s Natasha’s, so it should be about your size.” Like Natasha _Romanov?!_ You gulped at the idea, ignoring the flutter in your stomach at Steve’s care once again. “And clean towel, supplies, hopefully all you need.”

You opened your mouth uselessly, only to close it again, which made Steve’s lips twitch. _Good to know I’m funny…._ You tried your best to charm a grateful smile, deciding that the shower was definitely number two, right after the food.

“Thank you, Steve. I really appreciate that. You’re sure— uhm, sure that Agent Romanov won’t mind?”

The corners of his mouth rose higher. _Oh great._ “I’m sure she’ll live.”

_Yeah. But if you don’t stop smirking and smiling like that, **I** might not. **Captain.**    _

\---

You nestled in a chair with a bowl of soup in your hands, shamelessly savouring its heat in your palms. Steve gave you a brief smile over the screen before returning to the report he was writing.

You ate you food in silence, trying to pay attention to your doing instead of staring at Steve’s face. Needless to say you weren’t doing a very good job and your commander caught your eyes few times, after which you always lowered your gaze to the bowl very quickly. He didn’t call you out on it though and you would actually swear he found it amusing if the crinkle in his irises was anything to go by.

You didn’t know how much time passed when he finished with a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose – the gesture screamed ‘tired’. It occurred to you how much the mission’s outcome must have been lying or perhaps _raging_ in his thoughts. With another pang of shame, you realized you were so tangled in your own little world that you almost forgot how you had got in here in the first place.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. “Any news?”

Steve’s hand dropped at instant and he charmed a professional smile for you. You didn’t like that. It didn’t reach his eyes and it was his close-off. You weren’t asking Captain America, you wanted to keep talking to _Steve_.

“Oh, the extraction team should be here in about eight hours.”

That caught you by surprise. You expected them to be faster. Then again, they had a lot of work… potentially. With the others…?

“Oh. Great. Thanks. Did they… do you have any information about the rest of the team?”

This time, Steve’s smile was more genuine, his shoulders slightly losing their tension.

“They caught four different signals. Hopefully some of the agents are in pairs as well.”

“Yeah…” you mused, thanking heavens you were stuck in pair with Steve of all people. “So what do we do in the meantime? I mean, besides hoping and changing the sheets, _and_ scraping the couch clean, obviously.”

“Not much, I guess,” he replied and you couldn’t help but smile when he dropped his professional persona completely, opening up again. He gave you a pointed look. “And there are people to change the sheets too, you know? You can write a report if you want. You can have the laptop, I’m finished anyway—if- if you want to.”

He blurted the last part in a hurry as he must have seen the horrified expression on your face. Mission reports. You _hated_ writing mission reports – well, missions you weren’t to, only trying out as a part of the training so far. Guess it was time to grow up and do it for real.

An unpleasant knot tightened your stomach at the idea of someone reading it after you – like someone potentially important, _real_ – but you couldn’t help but feel excited about your first report as well. Though it would be very short, given how the mission went, i.e. very quickly to shit.

One glance at Steve told you he felt the same about it. He also seemed to be worn to a bone.

“Sounds like a good way of passing time – for me. About you… I hope I’m not overstepping… but you look like you could use at least a nap, Steve. I promise to be as quiet as a mouse…” He was looking at you with that strange look you had caught before, though not unkindly. You were totally overstepping, weren’t you? You needed to do something like—heh. “…and not to kill you in your sleep.”

Success! The corners of his lips twitched up.

“Because that would look really bad, to be found in a safe house with a corpse, huh?”

“Corpse of Captain America no less,” you added, your mouth unwittingly curling up in a playful smile.

“With no defensive wounds.”

“High treason.”

“So cold-blooded.”

“If you weren’t so heavy I would just drag you into the shower, telling them you slipped, you know. But you’re all muscles, so I guess I wouldn’t handle that. So, no killing you in your sleep.”

That earned you a raised eyebrow and a chuckle. “Lucky me.”

“So… sleep? The sheets aren’t too bad, but I’ll change them for you… if you tell me where the fresh ones are stocked.”

His smile turned kind when he noticed your hesitation and he rose to his feet.

“I think I’ll handle. Thanks for holding the fort for a while.”

“Nah. What kind of an agent would leave their Captain sleep-deprived?” you joked and waved it off jovially, following his footsteps with your gaze.

“Not you, clearly.”

“What kind of a person would deny sleep to someone who needs it, especially when they were so amiable?”

You didn’t mean to say that part out loud, not wanting to admit that this was more of a friendly gesture than being a good inferior. You did though and Steve heard you; he gave you a gorgeous smile.

“Goodnight.”

You pretended that the way he whispered your name before leaving the room didn’t make you shiver.

 ---

Taking a shower was the best idea you had in the past few hours. Making coffee was the second best, starting the report was the third, the fourth being taking a new dose of painkillers.

You weren’t sure if checking on Steve was the fifth best, but it was what you did – for all you knew, he could have taken pain-meds too. And what kind of an agent would let their commander to suffocate in their sleep because of an overdose? Not you, that was for sure.

Not to mention that you would be in an awful lot of trouble if Captain America died on your watch, especially like _that._

You sneaked into the bedroom as quietly as you could, terrified he would catch you lurking around him despite promising not to disturb him. It turned out that your worries were baseless; Steve was curled up on the bed on his side, tangled in the covers, not facing you, soundly asleep. As you observed his form, examining whether his chest was rising and falling regularly, you noticed another movement.

Shivering.

You blinked, taking several cautious steps closer, half-expecting him to jolt awake if the floor creaked under your feet or something. But nope. You managed to circle the bed, enough to see the distress displayed on the soldier’s face, his brows furrowed, mouth twisted in the exact opposite of the smile you remembered seeing earlier today. And yep, he was totally shivering as his fingers were tightly gripping the sheets.

Was he cold? Was he just having a nightmare? Reliving an ugly memory? Not that you would blame him with what he must have seen during his years as a soldier and an agent-- you could only wonder if it was all of these combined together. For all you knew, he could even remember some of his frozen time…

You shook your head at your stupid and useless thoughts and rather decided to take action. Reaching for the covers on the other side of the bed, you pulled them over him – biting your lip the whole time, your heart racing at the idea of him catching you.

Once again, a baseless worry; he was out cold (no pun intended) and when you got a little bolder, trying to muffle him in the covers so the draft wouldn’t steal the tiniest bit of warmth you suspected he needed to savour, he didn’t even flinch or whimper or anything.

Mission accomplished…. Except while the shivers were less visible under the pile of covers, his face was still twisted in a grimace.

Your brain decided to go full carrier-suicide mode, because there was only one way to let the nightmare go away. And you didn’t like it. You sighed, mentally preparing for— god knew what. A yell. A scolding. A firing. Everything and anything.

You touched his shoulder carefully, attempting to wake him up – preferably without getting punched in your face if he jolted awake. He didn’t. To be honest, he seemed grounded by the touch. His lips, releasing a tiny whimper, parted. A shaky exhale escaped him. Unwittingly, you did the same, your heart aching in your chest with both compassion and relief.

Well, you’d be damned. Captain America – and no, that wasn’t right, he was more Steve Rogers than anything else when interacting with you – was touch-starved in his sleep. Or maybe not necessarily _touch-starved_ , but… clearly, the contact helped.

You kept your hand on place, pretending your heart wasn’t beating its way out of your ribcage, melting at the same time. Pretending that this wasn’t the most beautiful picture of a man you had seen for years and that it wasn’t doing things to you. That it didn’t move you and physically ached you not to lay next to him and-

_Alright. Stop it right there. No cuddles._

Seeing that his breathing evened and his face relaxed, you gulped and raised your hand, forcing yourself to spin on your heels and head out before he could wake up and call you out on your boldness, even when driven by worries.

You froze in the doorway when he let out a distressed noise you didn’t quite identify.

_Well, shit._

You closed the door again soundlessly and made your way back, finding his previously softened features in a frown again. You sighed. You had to wake him up. You were _not_ happy with that any more than before, but hey, what else-

_Or._

_That’s a stupid idea._

_Not if you don’t **cuddle** him._

_Fine._

You mentally shushed the two voices in your head, sitting down on the floor beside the bed, your shoulder leaning onto the mattress in around Steve’s waist, you guessed – it was hard to tell with all the covers. With a shaky inhale, you reached for his shoulder again, your hand hesitantly slipping under the covers into their pleasant warmth.

Steve stirred at first – effectively giving you a heart attack –, but you could tell the tension of his muscles eased within a moment. You smiled despite yourself, not charmed by the peaceful expression on his handsome face _at all._

_Right. Keep yourself telling that. And that you are not falling for the man who hides behind the mask of a hard-ass commander and the famous shield of his. Yeah, you’re great at lying to yourself, keep up the good work._

You barely held back a giggle when cute and almost soundless snore escaped him.

_Yeah. **Cute**. Right. You totally have this under control. Not falling for him at all._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throwing fluff around like a confetti, grinning like a maniac* You get (plotless) fluff, and you get fluff and you get fluff as well!


	4. Sweet dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve dreams. Aka Steve’s POV for about a 1,7k words. Enjoy. It’s totally fluffy.

Steve was dreaming a nice dream. It had not started out pretty as he was re-dreaming falling straight into the deep ocean, the sharp icy water eating him alive, cutting into his skin, his muscles, his _bones_ … but then something changed. When he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the scream of pain inside – because opening his mouth would mean letting the cold water in – he felt something shift. The chill was gone.

He opened his eyes to a whole new world. There was a hand patting his shoulder, Bucky’s laugh echoing in his ears, and the warm summer breeze was caressing his hair, the water of the lake they went camping to tickling his feet.

“Hey, punk, you with me?”

The night was falling, but the air proudly carried the summer heat, still warming his skin. Steve focused his gaze, finding himself staring at a woman who was walking in the sand barefoot. The wind was playing a teasing game with her long airy skirt, twirling it around her feet; with her hair lightly fondled by the force of nature, her appearance was almost eternal. She was smiling for herself as the water caressed her feet.

“You should talk to her, ya’ know.”

Steve jumped out of his skin when he heard his friend again. “What? No. It… she wouldn’t want me anyway. Sorry to zone out, you were saying?” He shook his head, forcing himself to look back at Bucky.

“ _Man_ , you got it bad. And come on! Who wouldn’t want you?”

“How about every woman I’ve ever encountered?”

“Peggy Carter one of them?” Bucky asked him sarcastically and Steve was surprised to find himself not in a body of a scrawny Steve Rogers from Brooklyn who had been going camping with his best friend’s family, but in Captain America’s. Huh.

It was when he realized he was dreaming a new dream and not reliving a memory. Bucky was still here as if he hadn’t fallen off the train, Peggy was clearly in his past for some reason, and thinking about it, this woman definitely looked familiar, yet didn’t belong to this moment at all. 

The strangest thing was that the dream didn’t sadden him, didn’t fill him with the heavy nostalgia it usually did. He casted a glance at the agent he had only just met and was now casually walking in his consciousness – she quickly escaped his gaze when he caught her staring, a shy smile curling up her lips.

Steve sighed. “It’s not a good idea.”

“’Cause?”

“She’s an agent. We work together,” Steve replied with a shrug, his eyes losing themselves in the warm colours of the horizon. The sun had set a long time ago, but the sky was still shining pink and orange undertones. It was a sight to behold – yet, he felt an urge to look back at you instead, seeking a different kind of beauty, breath-taking all the same.

“And?”

“And it would get in the way. Not to mention that she would only want me for the title if for anything at all.” _They all do, don’t they?_

A slap on his bicep startled him. “Dumbass. She gave you that impression? She seemed awfully cosy with _Steve Rogers_ if you ask me.”

“Not that you would know. You’re just in my head, jerk.” 

“Not the one who’s being a jerk, punk. Or you know, _asshat, ‘_ cause clearly your buttock is so tight that it’s worth a tribute. She’s fun. I like her.”

“Well, you can ask her out. I’m sure she’s smiling at you and not at me anyway,” Steve sighed again, sparing another glance at you.

As if you could hear their conversation, you looked directly into Steve’s eyes and gave him a sweet smile that left no room for doubt that it only belonged to him.

 _Dammit._ Why did it send his heart racing, spreading even more warmth into his body? Why did it move him?

“You just said I’m only in your head, which kinda makes me dating her a bit difficult. ‘sides, she’s into you, not me. Don’t be an ass and ask her out before the chance slips through your fingers again. She’ll say yes.”

Because this was only a dream, Steve felt himself rise to his feet unwittingly, slowly walking to you. A blush crept up to your cheeks when you noticed, your fingers seeking your skirt still gently rocked by the wind to fumble with the fabric.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Steve,” you greeted him, peeking at him from under your eyelashes. God, had he even seen something so beautiful?

To his horror, he felt a wave of vertigo swaying him and he barely kept himself upright. When he overpowered it, his heart was beating frantically, his breathing heavy… his frame definitely smaller, because he was about your height now, smaller even.

He looked up; your brows were furrowed in concern. The sweet smile was gone.

_Oh no._

The little confidence he had to begin with disappeared at instant.

“I-I-“

“Steve? You okay?”

Your hands were on his arms – all bone and skin –, steadying him as if he was about to faint and Steve didn’t think he had ever felt so embarrassed in his life.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna- gonna-- I-“

He looked over his shoulder to Bucky, only to see him giving a thumbs-up. Steve’s face felt even hotter then, when he turned back to you.

“You gonna what?” you encouraged him softly, hesitantly letting go of him.

It was as if the cold wrapped him again without the heat of your hands.

“Gonna… go. It was nice to meet you,” he stuttered, gulping against the huge lump in his throat and you pursed your lips at that, your face falling.

“Oh. Alright then. I thought you wanted to ask me something,” the sadness in your voice made his chest ache. You seemed so disappointed. But that was because the captain’s persona disappeared, yes? It couldn’t be anything else.

He hesitated though, your eyes still at him, open and inviting.

“I… would you… would you like to— to go dancing sometimes?” he babbled out, panicking at instant.

Really? _Dancing_?! Was he insane? Wasn’t it enough that he was a ninety-pound nothing again, he wanted to make a fool of himself in a ballroom as well? He was so small you could step on him! Why had he asked that? More importantly, why on Earth would you say yes? Not to mention he would step on your feet, because he was a _terrible_ dancer!

He was ultimately taken aback by the bright smile that appeared on your lips, lighting up your face.

“Yes, I’d love to.”

He blinked, all the negative thoughts gone as if he snapped his fingers.

Really? Like… _yes_? “You… really?”

You giggled at his confusion. “Yes.”

“But, I’m…” he licked him lips, fighting the need to check on Bucky, because this was getting more and more surreal with each second passing. “I’m just… this, me.”

You watched him puzzled as he gestured towards his body, before you rolled your eyes – and honestly, that was the most _you_ gesture he had seen the dreamt-you do. You took his hand then, squeezing lightly.

“Yes. Yes, you are you. And? Your point?”

The blatant disbelief in your eyes took him by surprise to put it mildly and made him release a shocked gasp at the pleasant feeling tingling in his fingertips. He shook his head, not understanding, but deciding to go along with this for as long as it lasted.

He smiled at you, touched by your sentiment. “And nothing... I guess.”

“Good,” you whispered gently, kissing his cheek lightly. “Looking forward to it.”

…

When Steve’s eyelids fluttered open, it took him a while to remember where he was, the aura of the dream fading away unusually slowly. He suspected the warmth he was wrapped in was to blame as well as the dusky room.

And then there was the feeling of a hand in his own, enveloped between his palms he had folded, under his cheek. With a rapidly beating heart, his gaze followed the line of the wrist, forearm, the delicate crook of the elbow, bandaged arm and shoulder, only for his sight to land on your face.

That was when the true shock came; finding you by his bed, resting your head on the mattress by his torso with a hand reaching out to him as if in a gesture of comfort. You features were soft and relaxed, an inconspicuous smile on your lips despite the clearly uncomfortable position and your hand snatched away from you.

Steve felt ashamed when he imagined what could have led to this very moment. You must have caught him in a nightmare. Clearly had tugged him in more covers, because when he dreamed of the least pleasant landing in his life, he always woke up shivering, unable to warm up, hence rarely falling asleep again.

But you, you had managed to silence his mind. Thanks to you, he had been sleeping soundly, having sweet dreams even. No matter how embarrassed he was, he couldn’t help but smile tenderly at your care – a care of a complete (and who was he kidding, very beautiful) stranger he had just met.

He resisted the urge to kiss the back of our hand which he had stolen for himself and decided it was time to get up. You would have a terrible cramp in your neck and back from the strange position, not to mention you were sleeping on the cold floor.

Unsure how to wake you up gently, he caressed you hand and forearm.

You woke up with a jolt and a blush in your cheeks, the same blush he had seen in his dream. Thank _god_ you couldn’t read minds, because if you knew what he had been dreaming about, you would run away, screaming. Potentially contacted SHIELD’s HR department.

“Hey. I mean, morning, Capt— _Steve_ ,” you corrected yourself quickly, your voice hoarse with sleep.

Despite the obvious unspoken awkwardness, Steve smiled as if he knew you would never mention his nightmares or this peculiar rouse to anyone; and he was simply grateful for that.

“Hey, yourself.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m giving myself cavities with this thing. Heh, who cares.


	5. Keep calm and stay professional

The way back to SHIELD headquarters was silent as was the taking off. Three agents identified themselves, arriving in three different cars; you two rode in the middle one when coming to the closest private airport. During the flight, no one uttered a word – it was like Steve had no idea what to say now and you had no idea what you could. So silence it was; and it was far from the comfortable one you were in after he had found you sleeping by his bedside.

You arrived back at Triskelion; you parted ways with a quiet nod, because hand-shake might be painful for you. 

On medical, the doctor on duty was praising the lovely stitches you had, looking honestly shocked when you told her they were Steve’s – Captain America’s. You called him his rank, because you knew where your place was and since you were back to reality, Steve seemed to realize it too. ‘Common sense’ met ‘SHIELD training of agents (over)respecting their superiors’ and this was the result.

Life went on. You returned to paper-pushing, because you had been hurt on the mission and you definitely couldn’t go back to the field since you weren’t even able to fire your gun correctly or do extended exercise. Life went on and it was… boring and grey. The only highlight was Harry smacking your uninjured arm with a worried-slash-playful hiss of _‘I told you NOT to get shot.’_ His concern was heart-warming.

\---

It had been a week. With a little help of lady fortune, you had met Steve Rogers – correction, Captain America, _Sir_ – three times.

The first time, he was with an agent you didn’t recognize. Yet, you couldn’t help but smile when seeing him. Your “ _Morning, Captain Rogers. Morning, Agent_ ,” (because your ma’ raised you right) was almost enthusiastic, yet kept professional. The agent responded with the same greeting. Steve… gave an inconspicuous nod. You could feel your stomach drop, but tried not to read too much into it.

The second time though, he was alone. You greeted him the same way, except it was the afternoon. And Captain Rogers responded with a silent stiff nod only. Again.

The third time you saw him in your way, you honestly wanted to take another route to your office space just to avoid him. But you could tell that his companion spotted you even when they were talking business or whatever; it would look bad if you suddenly spun on your heels in the middle of the corridor and disappeared. So, you decided to be a big girl who wasn’t hurt by Captain’s indifference towards her and continued walking with a lump growing in your throat.

Your heart was practically jumping ahead of the rest of your body – that was how fast it was beating. You hoped it didn’t show.

“Captain Rogers, Agent Romanov,” you said, way quieter than was polite. Neither of them seemed to mind.

Captain Rogers gave you his typical nod of acknowledgement, making you want to scream.

_Asshat. So full of himself. Arrogant dumbass._

And you had been a dumbass too of course, for not realizing right away that he had been ‘friendly’ simply because of something called ‘professional courtesy’ and ‘inconvenient circumstances’. Translated to everyday speech – because he had had to and you had been the only person in the twenty mile radius. Now, he was the legend who wasn’t mingling with ordinary agents and apparently didn’t have the decency to return a hello.  

_‘My ma’ raised me right’ my **ass** , Rogers.’_

The shocking part came when Agent Romanov reciprocated your greeting with a smile that looked too suspicious on her lips.

“Agent 19.”

So… she knew who you were. _That’s not concerning at all._

The moment you passed the golden pair – and of course, why would Captain America even spare one glance at you aka no-name-chic from nowheresville when he was used to the company of the Black Widow aka the gorgeous badass Natasha Romanov –, you released a shaky breath, not bothering to hide your shocked expression at the woman addressing you.

Later, you would come to conclusion they had been going through the failed mission you and Captain had been to and their briefing had been very thorough. After that, you didn’t give it a second thought.

What you didn’t know was what followed the short interaction between the three of you. You never saw the pair of legendary agents circle the corner, you never heard and saw the _gorgeous badass Natasha Romanov_ smack Steve’s arm with a surprising force for such a thin woman.

“You’re a dumbass, Rogers, you know that? She’s kinda cute.”

“Don’t I know it…” he mumbled, stroking his bicep, seemingly hurt.

“Which part?” she hissed, wondering if she should just ask you out for him. It would be almost like a mission, you two meeting an asset… an _ass-_ et in this particular case, because she couldn’t believe this blond idiot.

Really? Ignoring you despite liking you, because you could _potentially_ work together on an assignment again somewhere far in unforeseeable future and he didn’t want you two to _potentially_ be compromised?

Geez, Rogers.

Steve sighed. “Both, Romanov. Both.”

 _Good_ , she thought. At least he was admitting to being stupid. Maybe he wasn’t a completely lost cause after all. Maybe he just needed few more pushes.

\---

„SHIELD’s rules are stupid.“

You looked up from the report you were re-reading after your friend, blinking at the man towering above you. He stood there in front of your desk as a righteous angel of exasperation, jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket as if he was your average fellow citizen.

The man who was occupying unfair amount of space in your head and hadn’t spoken to you since leaving the cabin-slash-safe-house.

“St- _Captain_ ,” you corrected yourself as you imagined there were people listening to you and as you reminded yourself that this indeed was Captain Rogers talking with a low-life agent, which he clearly was fully aware of now. “What-“

“And by SHIELD’s rules being stupid I mean me. So I guess you can add ‘dumbass’ to that list of yours.”

Your knee-jerk reaction – after you realized what he was talking about – was to oppose that it was not your list by any means. But you wisely kept your mouth shut and took a quick survey of who was watching this surreal exchange instead.

You saw Wendy sitting in the opposite boot watching Steve’s bottom _(no blame here, sister)_ , Jack in the corner with his eyebrow raised, Kate who was clearly not concerned by her technically-superior hearing the music blasting from her headphones as she was listening to YouTube videos and swaying in the rhythm, and of course Harry, the retiring know-it-all-saw-it-all (the nice kind with funny stories from the field), was sitting at his desk, arms crossed on his chest, an amused grin on his face.   

You escaped his gaze, looking back at Steve wide-eyed.

“I’m— sorry, Sir? I don’t think I understand.”

“The rule is that SHIELD operatives shouldn’t be involved with each other. And while it might be true that it could compromise them in the field, that rule is just ridiculous, because we’re not even on the same team and the chances that we will need to work together again are slightly above zero.”

You stared at him speechless. What was he saying again? Your brain was very slow in processing his words. He clenched his jaw when you gave him no actual reaction and he scratched the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable. He lowered his voice when he spoke again.

“Sorry. That’s not at all how I wanted this to go.” He squatted then, so you were on the same eye-level since you were still sitting in the chair, too dumbstruck to do anything else than stare and occasionally stutter a word or two. Steve gulped as if he was the one nervous. Honestly, you weren’t sure what _you_ were then. “I’m sorry. Would you like to have dinner with me? Or coffee? Or anything really?”

That did it. Your jaw fell on your desk, the words feeling like a bucket of cold water splashing in your face. The mixture of awe, warm feeling in your chest and dizziness took over you; in the end, disbelief won though. Because honestly, no matter how adorable Steve Rogers was now, crouching by your desk, watching you with his deep cerulean eyes, you couldn’t _believe_ his nerves.

That was how he thought he could play it? Ignore you for a week, barely nodding at you in a greeting when meeting you in the corridors, and then just walk in like the king of the world, all the womankind falling to his feet?

_No thank you, I have some self-respect left._

Though… for him, you might forget it.

_No, nope._

_But-_

The inner fight of the urge to kiss him senseless for showing up with such proposition and to kick him in his balls, because _no, mister, this is not the way the world works, not even for you,_ was raging in you, resulting in a stutter.

“I-uhm… you… you didn’t even say hi for a week, what— what changed?”

That was good, right? You deserved an explanation at least? That was perfectly reasonable, unlike someone else’s behaviour?

He gulped, his expression shifting from a puppy look to a _kicked_ puppy look.

 _Damn, my heart_. The world was so unfair, allowing some people to soften others’ anger just by being cute…

“I know. And I’m sorry. I thought that we shouldn’t talk together, because we weren’t allowed to… get involved and I needed time to process all that. That’s part of the reason why I’m stupid. _Dumb,_ I mean. Dumbass.”

You couldn’t help it. The corners of your lips twitched. How could one be mad at Steve Rogers, who was willingly calling himself a dumbass and being so sweet? You were such a weak creature, dammit.

“Yes,” you whispered shyly, the need to bite your lip as your nerves worked physically hurting you.

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he frowned a little; you only realized then that he couldn’t possible have an idea if you were just approving of him eating humble pie or saying yes to his… _date_ proposition? You would have thought it was just a friendly offer, but he had been the one to call it ‘get involved’, okay?

 _Twice_.

Also, it was to a bit of both, the yes you were saying. Not that you had the heart to admit it, yet.

“I mean— yes, _I’d like that.”_

His lips spread in a beautiful grin that sent your heart racing, especially in the combination with his happily twinkling blue eyes.

“Swell!” he exclaimed, almost making you choke. Who the hell was still using that word? _No, don’t answer that._ “I’ll bring flowers.”

You chuckled at that, incredulous, remembering he had said he should have bought them to you before seeing too much skin of yours. The euphoria of what was happening had nearly the same effect on you as the pain-meds a week ago. It made you brutally honest and babbling. 

“Planning on getting so far on the first date, Steve?”

The tips of his ears turned red as he realized what conclusion you must have come to. His eyes widened in horror. Oh boy, you were about to have so much fun with getting him flustered, that was for sure.

“I didn’t mean it like-“

And because you were honest, babbling, but also bold, you leaned to him over the desk before you could change your mind and pressed your lips to his cheek for a split second.

“I’m teasing, Captain. I have no doubt you’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Utterly awed at your gesture, he smiled at you brightly. “I’ll try. Dinner on Saturday sounds good?”

“Sounds great actually. And _good_ ,” you winked at him as he rose to his feet and you handed him your card out of habit, doubting he needed it – after all, he could just find you here if he hadn’t somehow found your phone number already. “If you try hard enough, I might add ‘gentleman’ to the list.”

He left you to your desk duties with a laugh. You caught a glimpse of Harry showing you a thumps-up as your gaze followed Steve’s figure out of the door and you blushed.

The moment you couldn’t see Steve anymore, you hid your face in your palms, giggling like a schoolgirl. You didn’t care what your co-workers would think – and _yes_ , you noticed that Kate had turned off the music in favour to listen your conversation. It didn’t matter.

You were having a date on Saturday. With the world’s first superhero/dumbass/ ~~hard~~ kind-ass/smartass/tight-ass/tight ass.

And boy, were you excited. You needed to scratch the tight-ass from the list, because _man_ , Steve Rogers didn’t mind breaking the rules and crossing the lines when they were stupid.

To be honest, you didn’t mind either. Not at all. After all, it would be with the blessing of your superior. And that had to mean something, right?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t help but hint Natasha’s involvement, because ‘matchmaker Widow’ for the win and Steve-Natasha friendship goals.
> 
> I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it. Thank you for commenting, kudos and, of course, reading in the first place. Kudos to you all. :-*


End file.
